


Melting Ice in the Sun

by foxxcub



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, Underage Sex, porn sitting around in my gdocs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1642853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxcub/pseuds/foxxcub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson has a secret, and the secret happened by accident. Actually, the secret is the accident. And that accident’s name is Clint Barton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melting Ice in the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, have some daddy!kink that's been sitting around collecting dust. This whole thing is part of the filthy brain child of myself and sirona, so blame it all on her. 
> 
> FTR, Phil is 25 while Clint is 16-17 and VERY consenting. Proceed as you will.

Phil Coulson has a secret, and the secret happened by accident. Actually, the secret is the accident. And that accident’s name is Clint Barton.

Clint himself isn’t really the secret, though, Phil always reminds himself. He takes Clint out to dinner and the movies; one time they even when paintballing and it was one of the best nights of Phil’s life. No, Clint’s not the secret.

The fact that he’s seventeen, however, very much _is_.

Phil tells people that he met Clint at a bar, which is true. He tells people they hit it off from the start, which is also true. He tells people Clint is a junior at the local university, which is decidedly not true, although Clint had managed to convince Phil of the opposite for nearly three months until Phil found his driver’s license. The exact moment Phil had realized he’d been having filthy, raunchy, _mind-blowing_ sex with a _sixteen-year-old_ is not a moment he ever wants to revisit. 

That was seven months ago. Clint’s no longer sixteen, but he’s still not at the point where Phil won’t, you know, get arrested if anyone took it upon themselves to look into things. He once tried making himself hold off touching Clint again until Clint’s eighteenth birthday; Clint had had other thoughts on that matter. And when Clint puts his mind to something, he more than likely gets his way. 

Phil knows this. He’s learned it the hard way. He’d inadvertently learned it the night he’d taken what he’d assumed was a twenty-one-year-old up to his hotel room and proceeded to fuck him into the mattress. Three months later, Phil had found out that what he’d thought was a fantastic night of sex had also been Clint’s first time. 

“You didn’t do anything to me I didn’t want,” Clint had said, blue eyes wide and pleading, his jaw set in a stubborn tilt. “I saw you in that bar and I _wanted_ you. End of story.”

It’s so fucking hard to say no when Clint turns the Bambi eyes on him. 

The thing is, Phil wants a lot with this kid, more than he probably should. Phil is twenty-five and owns his own condo and has a car payment and gets a Christmas bonus every December. Clint, on the other hand, is seventeen and lives with his fourth set of foster parents in Section Eight housing. His foster dad is a drunk, the mom works three jobs, and Clint just quietly falls through the cracks. He lost his real parents seven years ago to a car crash, and he’s got an older brother off somewhere whom he never talks about without getting a pinch above his eyes. Clint didn’t even have a winter coat until Phil took it upon himself to buy one and then pretend it was just an old coat he had lying around that didn’t fit anymore.

Phil also pretends that he doesn’t leave his front door unlocked so that Clint can slip in during the night and crawl into bed with him. Sometimes his cheeks will be a little damp, but Phil never pushes. He’d only learned about Clint’s family after they’d gotten drunk one night watching a _Terminator_ marathon.

He doesn’t think about graduation coming up in May, or the fact that Phil wants, more than anything, to help Clint get into college. He wants his boyfriend to be a college kid _for real_.

But they don’t talk about that stuff. Phil doesn’t even let himself call Clint his “boyfriend” out loud, because he honestly doesn’t know what they are. Maybe Clint sees him as a meal ticket, or maybe just an outlet for all his raging teenage hormones. Phil hates assuming anything.

So he makes himself be content with what they have right now, which is...well. Something Phil is most definitely going to hell for at some point, because a moral human being doesn’t introduce a seventeen-year-old to daddy kink by accident. 

~

It just...slipped out one night when Clint had been riding Phil’s cock like it was made for him, body stretched out like a gift of smooth, tight skin and muscle. Phil, without thinking, had dug his hands into Clint’s perfect ass and growled, “You make daddy feel so fucking good.” 

Clint’s eyes had gone wide and dark; five seconds later he’d come like a freight train and splattered Phil’s chest. Phil had wanted to be mortified, but it was hard to be embarrassed when Clint had melted into him afterward, pushing his face into Phil’s sweaty neck. 

“Am I your good boy?” he’d whispered tentatively, licking at Phil’s ear, and _fuck_ , Phil had never come so hard in his life.

It kind of became a thing after that.

~

Phil is in his office, going over forms and documents and other soul-numbingly boring things that pertain to his job. His email keeps overflowing, and he’s got an overseas conference call in forty-five minutes he really wishes wasn’t happening. Phil glances at the clock on the wall across from his desk--it’s only twelve-thirty. He hasn’t eaten anything all day.

The stress headache he can feel building behind his eyes is a given.

So when Phil’s phone buzzes with a text, he ignores it at first. It buzzes again a few minutes later, then another time. Phil rolls his eyes and finally grabs it, hoping like hell it’s not Stark in marketing sending out a mass message inviting everyone out for shots after work. 

Both messages are from Clint. 

_U busy?_

_R u alone?_

That can’t be good. Clint’s in the middle of spring break, which means he’s spending his days camped out in front of Phil’s TV watching _SportsCenter_ and eating every bit of food in the house. It also means Clint gets bored very, very easily.

 _Sorry, in the middle of something, will talk later_ , Phil types back in a hurry as another five emails pop up in his inbox. God, he just knows he’ll have to stay late tonight; he doesn’t like making Clint eat dinner alone--he gets enough of that at home.

 _It’ll just be a sec pls?_ , Clint sends back, and Phil groans and drops his head into his hand. He can just hear Clint’s perfect, manipulative begging tone. At least Phil’s being spared the Bambi eyes.

He sighs heavily, types _Okay fine, what is it?_

A minute goes by before Phil gets a new text, this time with a video attachment. He knows before he evens opens it that he’ll regret this decision. On instinct, he glances toward the door of his office, scrunches down a little further into his desk chair, and plays the video.

The instant it begins to play, Phil bites his lip. Hard.

Clint is sprawled across Phil’s suede ottoman, legs spread. He’s looking at the camera with an extremely sad, puppy-eyed expression that completely belies the fact that he’s shirtless, and his shorts are riding obscenely low on his hips, half covering his ass. But the worse part, the _very_ worst part, is that Clint his touching himself. He’s slowly, methodically thrusting his hips up against the hand not holding his phone, lazily running his palm over the bulge of his hard cock. 

_I miss you daddy_ , says the text immediately following the video.

“Jesus,” Phil breathes, already flushed. He closes out of the video like it’s on fire, but it’s too late; he’s already gone hard in his pants. Like there was anything else he was going to do when faced with something like that.

 _You know I’m at work_ , he sends with as much indignant irritation as he can muster. 

But because Clint is trying to kill him, Phil gets back in reply, _Im just so hard. feel empty w/out you._

Phil closes his eyes and swallows the desperate moan he can feel sticking in the back of his throat. God, what he wouldn’t give to call up Clint right now and jerk off to the sound of his voice; Clint goes all low and shaky when he’s close, voice breaking slightly like he’s just hit puberty, and Christ, sometimes Phil really is a sick fuck.

No. Phil isn’t going to do this right now, because Phil is an adult. Phil is a professional. And professionals don’t come in their good pants while at their desk.

 _Can you be a good boy and wait for me? I’ll take care of you soon, I promise,_ he types back with shaking fingers. 

It’s several long moments before he gets a reply back. Phil uses those minutes to get his breathing under control and will his erection to go down. He definitely doesn’t think about Clint squirming on the ottoman, whimpering at his phone when he sees the words _good boy_.

 _yes_ , comes the eventual reply, and Phil knows Clint’s pouting from that one simple little word.

He lets himself grin and tilt his head back against his chair. Clint knows Phil always rewards good behavior, and this time will be no exception. 

Phil just needs to get through his emails and his conference call, finish the day like a working, responsible adult. Tonight he’ll be the best daddy his boy deserves.


End file.
